


The Noble Warrior and His Love

by airspaniel



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Love, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-09
Updated: 2007-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stuff of legends, and a man who can do nothing but watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Noble Warrior and His Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here.](http://yumemiru-kikai.livejournal.com/12689.html)

The cherry blossoms fell, softly as snow in the sunlight, as the hero Takezo Kensei took the swordsmith’s daughter into his arms.

Her delighted laughter, like twinkling bells, slowed and silenced itself when he pulled her close; the strength of his hands and the intensity in his ocean-blue eyes making her flush to match the fluttering petals.

And Hiro watched, and said nothing.

His heart ached inside his chest. He knew he should walk away, should actually _go home_ ; return to the people who were waiting for him. His father. Ando.

But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear his eyes away as their lips met, Yaeko twining her slender arms up and around Kensei’s neck.

A thrill of something not quite jealousy flared down Hiro’s spine at the contact. He had been the one to save her, the one who fearlessly swept in and carried her away; the one she had first turned her flawless face up to in the hopes of being kissed.

He had also been the one to save him, the one who sobered him up; who pulled the arrows from his chest and forced him to prove himself on the steps of the temple. The one who had loved him all his life, who would follow him into the very lair of the dragon, if it were allowed.

It wasn’t jealousy, for there was no one to be jealous _of_ , only the haunting desire to be one of them; be _with_ them in this moment, as the two people who meant the most to him right now immersed themselves in each other.

But this story had already been written. And Hiro Nakamura was nowhere mentioned.

So he watched, silent and yearning, as Kensei’s hand loosed the leather cord that bound Yaeko’s hair, casting endless raven waves down her elegant back. She sighed and kissed him again, this time deep and searching, and his fingers tightened in those ebon locks as she pressed against him.

Yaeko was fiery and wild, less a woman than a force of nature, a beautiful maelstrom of temper and tenderness. Kensei broke the kiss, and she cried out as his lips caressed the delicate curve of her ear; whispering something that Hiro couldn’t hear, but which made her eyes fall shut and her full lips fall open in a sigh that might’ve been “yes.”

Hiro wanted to close his eyes, truly feeling like an intruder here. But he was helpless, transfixed, as Kensei slipped the kimono from her ivory shoulders, raining kisses down her long neck. Her hands slid under his garment, exploring the lean lines of his body, relishing the way her touch made him hum against her skin.

Then there was nothing between them, no distance but air and no barrier but skin as he lowered her to the grass; the pair of them pale and perfect against the velvet green and the fallen flowers.

It was breathtaking. Hiro was tempted to blink; to freeze this moment forever, immortal and golden. Instead he sighed, leaning heavily against the tree that was his hiding place, and bit his lip, trying to contain the storm within him.

Yaeko smiled shyly, tracing the side of Kensei’s face, his jaw, trying to memorize him with her fingers. He took her wrist gently, bringing those fingers to his mouth and drawing them in, one by one.

Hiro’s hand came up of its own volition, fingers brushing his lips unconsciously.

Kensei kissed down her palm, her wrist, letting her run her hand through his short, blond hair as he lowered his head to her breast. Her breath caught and she arched up into the touch, the heat of his lips and tongue against her sensitive flesh.

She spoke then, breathless, words too faint and far away for Hiro to understand. He did understand the movement, Kensei covering her body with his own as her silken thighs grasped his narrow waist; and he didn’t need to see or hear clearly to know what was about to happen.

Yaeko cried out, trembling, clutching her hands at Kensei’s shoulder blades. He moaned, a low, ragged sound just barely audible to Hiro, and his head fell forward; forehead pressed against the gentle slope that joined her neck and shoulder.

Hiro didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until it shuddered out of him in a sudden harsh sigh. He panicked briefly, sure that the noise had been too loud; that he’d been exposed. But the couple making love in the twilight, under the cloud-like boughs of the cherry blossom trees, was oblivious to everything but each other, and he had not been noticed.

He sighed again, quiet and relieved, and lost himself in the rhythm of their bodies; enraptured by the arch of Yaeko’s back, the tenderness of Kensei’s hands on her skin.

Would his hands be as gentle with him, caress him as lovingly? Would she writhe and moan under him, long legs locked at his back to hold him deep within her?

He wasn’t aware that he’d been touching himself until he climaxed, sharp and sudden; his vision of the lovers momentarily eclipsed by his own closing eyelids. He felt the dampness seep into the layers of his clothing and he clenched his eyes tightly shut. For the first time since the scene began, he was ashamed.

When his eyes opened, everything was still. A few errant petals hung in the air, suspended in space, and the thin branches of the trees twisted at odd angles; skewed and supported by a breeze that was no longer blowing.

Time had stopped, freezing the lovers at the peak of their union. Hiro crept forward from behind the trees, daring in this time out of time to approach them.

Yaeko’s head was thrown back, mouth open in a soundless cry of ecstasy even as her eyes were closed; almost peaceful. Kensei was braced above her, brow furrowed and bright eyes shut; lips slightly parted in exertion.

Overcome with a surging emotion he couldn’t name, Hiro leaned in and pressed his mouth to Kensei’s, daring to taste the man’s lips and explore the still, unyielding depths of his mouth with his tongue.

After a moment, he drew back, cupping the unmoving face in his hand. He turned to Yaeko, all passion even in stillness, and kissed her chastely on the forehead. His hand lingered in her hair, still glistening and soft, though somewhat disheveled.

At length he managed to pull himself away, walking away from them with long, determined strides. Time resumed, and he didn’t look back, not even when their mingled cries echoed through the air, rapturous and complete.

Their love was the stuff of legend, and Hiro had made sure it was going to be written correctly.

His job was done. It was time to go home.


End file.
